


we are alive (in this death valley)

by callingthequits



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: perish the abusive!grisha trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callingthequits/pseuds/callingthequits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa never forgot the shade of blood. It was dark and yet vibrant, pretty yet horrifying, the blood of her parents yet the color of her most prized possession. It was also the reminder that, as Grisha kept on telling her, she had something to live for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are alive (in this death valley)

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have been listening to too much Fall Out Boy.

She never forgot the shade of blood.

When she was younger, Mikasa used to admire its brightness amidst the pastel colors of her dresses and the dark wood of their small cabin. Her father would bring home ducks for dinner, and her mother would chop off all the parts that they didn’t eat. Her father would distract her then, successfully diverting her attention from the gruesome sight. The both of her parents would cleverly sidestep any questions she had, and she would sit in silence.

When her father was out hunting and her mother was out gardening, Mikasa would watch the blood dry. She didn’t know what it was, nor what it symbolized; she just liked watching the vibrancy fade into maroon.

She was six when they told her what blood was. When Mikasa recalls this memory, she remembers having no reaction. In reality, she didn’t understand it enough to see the horror behind it.

So when the traffickers came, and Mikasa was only seven, the blood that seemed to be reaching out for her seemed to be like something from a distant dream instead of the nightmare she was living out. It’s only now that she recognizes the helplessness of being human; she was still not because they would kill her if she wasn’t, but because she believed that if she would die she would not care.

And Eren, bright-eyed Eren with fire in his eyes and warmth in his heart, had blazed in with his blood-red scarf flapping behind him like the wings of an avenging angel. Mikasa didn’t believe in angels; she did not believe in God, in a force that let humanity almost fade out under the Titans. She does not consider the possibility that there is someone out there with that much evil in their hearts. But for a brief moment, she thought of some powerful deity in the heavens that was watching over her, and she thought that Eren was some sort of savior entrusted to her.

This isn’t true, but Mikasa likes to think it is.

(This is, of course, the first reason she ever had to protect Eren. She was brought up with the idea that you had to pay your debts, to never waste your food, and that trust is the highest form of honor you could ever give. There were many more reasons after that -- like genuine affection growing for the boy, and Mikasa grew up thinking of him as something akin to a brother -- but that was the first, and therefore it grew into instinct.)

If Eren was her savior, bringer of the hellfire and rage that left devils to burn, then Grisha was her comforter, the always invisible air that always managed to either be a storm or a breeze. 

Grisha Jaeger was a kind, if not sometimes absent, man. The first night she spent in the house, he asked for her prescence in his room. She was hesitant and nervous, until Eren nudged her in. The room was a bit dusty and filled with books on medical education, with a small desk reserved for writing letters and a bed that was very neat. Grisha was sitting on said bed, poring over a piece of paper.

"Ah, Mikasa," he said. He moved a bit, and patted down on the space he left. She looked back to see Eren giving her a small smile, and then closing the door. That left the two alone. Mikasa took the seat.

Grisha fixed his glasses, skimming over the paper for a second before looking back at her. She was staring, resolutely, at the wooden floor beneath her. 

She was wondering whether the dried stains were paint or something else when he cleared his throat. "I understand if you do not want to talk right now. In fact, I understand if you would want to keep silent for the rest of your life; however, I must say that it is not healthy to. I do not recommend it. I should know, for I am a doctor."

He gave her a smile that she did not see.

"If you choose to be quiet, then so be it." Grisha went back to reading the paper. "All I need you to do is listen. Will you listen to me, Mikasa? Or shall I wait for another time?"

"Better now than never," Mikasa whispered. He nodded.

"You must understand that your parents are dead, first," he said, and she winced. "Of course, I do not wish to remind you so harshly, but I am trying to ease the pain on your part. If you only remember the past, then you do not live in the present, and therefore you cannot build the future, correct? I do not want to see you suffer for this. Thus, we must make the pain worse before it can get better. It is not ideal. However, it is the only choice we have.

"We live in a world where everyone dies. Currently, we live in a world where everyone is killed off in one way or another. This is the truth, and it is harsh. We must simply live with it."

Mikasa longed to say that she did not want to simply live with it. She did not want to live in a world where the wonder faded out to become horror. She did not want to live in a world where flowers were as red as death, where the sun was as bright as the fire used to burn bodies to ashes, where the night sky could never equal to the darkness she felt. She wanted to fight for the world as she saw it in her eyes before, to the world that she of her own right and consent had opened her eyes to. She did not want to live in a world where her eyes were forced open.

She was certain she felt something in her veins, but she kept her mouth shut.

Grisha sighed. "You are a young girl in the world of old men. We are not so governed by gender as we were, but do you not notice all the men in power? Our three commanders are men. The most powerful dukes are men, and women are scarce in their level of power. Our walls are named for women, and many worship them as gods, but that is only because women are only meant to protect, is that not right? Women guard the homes and men fight for it. Is that not the standard belief?"

Mikasa opened her mouth. "Not where I am from. Humans are humans all the same, no matter the anatomy. This is what I was taught, and I believe it. Don't you?"

The man beside her stared for a moment, and he laughed. "My dear, I have seen enough proof of that myself. I do not believe it. I  _know_  it. I remind you of this because there are people who do not, and they will put you down because of it. Of course, they forget that non-binary humans exist also. Extremely inhuman, no? But that is the way it is.

"It is sad, and it is depressing, this world we live in. That is doubtless. So I ask, why do we still fight for it? Why does humanity enclose itself in walls, why does humanity kill Titans, and why does humanity still fight for a world in which they are certain that they will die in? They say that there is beauty in the world, and perhaps there is, but there is so much ugliness that it is ignored. What do we fight for? A God that let us rise to near-extinction? For the re-rising of the human race? For this cruel world?" The paper, which he had been clutching, was put down on the desk before it was ripped to pieces. Grisha removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. He took a breath.

"Humans are selfish by nature, Mikasa," Grisha said. "This is another fact. They fight for themselves.  _We_  fight for ourselves. We fight for own pride, for our own loved ones, and for our own survival. This is the reason why humanity is so resilient, and why it is so determined to exterminate Titans from this world. Our selfish race is then binded by selflessness, and perhaps there is a beauty in that.

"So I remind you to fight and to survive, young Mikasa Ackerman," he said, putting his glasses back on. "Live on in the memory of your parents, and in the memory of the friends you make. Live for them, and survive to tell the tale."

"Why do you tell me this?" Mikasa asked, in genuine curiosity. 

Grisha looked at her, serious and amused all at once. "Why shouldn't I? I am a doctor, am I not? I specialize in aiding the health of other people, which is not only physical. I am a doctor, and I came to visit you as my patient, and so my patient you are. Circumstances had simply forced me to prioritize other things first. In a way, my request for you to talk with me was of a selfish manner as well. I want to see you grow  _strong_ , Mikasa. I am simply reminding you of the reasons why you should be."

Mikasa Ackerman was Mikasa Ackerman, but as of that moment she was still a child. She sat straighter and challenged, "What if I refused? If I wanted to stay in the house and do my chores?"

"Then there is nothing wrong with that." Grisha smiled at her. "My wife quit being part of the Garrison so she could support Eren while he was growing up. What you do with your life is entirely of your choice, as it should be. I am simply telling you to enjoy that life while you still have it, and to not let anyone take advantage of you."

She could see the logic in that, she supposed. "I have one question, though."

"Yes?"

"Where do babies come from?"

There was a silence in which Mikasa stared at Grisha, and Grisha stared back in a brief expression of surprise and stupidity. Finally he said, "Perhaps one day, Mikasa. You should probably sleep now."

Mikasa nodded, safe in the implied promise, and promptly went to Eren's room, where Karla said she would sleep in. The older woman had offered Mikasa the entire room, with Eren willing to sleep somewhere else if it meant her comfort, but Mikasa had preferred that she had Eren with her. She had slept with her parents on the same bed before, to keep herself warm in the cold nights. She would miss that comfort.

When she woke up the next day, it was to see that Eren had left a note saying that he was in the kitchen helping Karla with the breakfast. He had also, apparently, wrapped Mikasa in the blood-red scarf he gave her. It did make her feel quite warm. 


End file.
